


a hymn for the rest of us

by memorysdaughter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Craven Edge, Episode 50 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorysdaughter/pseuds/memorysdaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by one line of dialogue from Episode 50: "Do you need a moment?  Do you... do you need to speak to Sarenrae?"</p><p>Pike considers the divine in each member of Vox Machina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a hymn for the rest of us

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short thing that was in my head for a week or so. Based on Vax's first sentences to Pike in a couple of episodes. Spoilers for Ep. 50.

“Do you need a moment?  Do you… do you need to speak to Sarenrae?”

Pike looks up in surprise as the rogue kneels at her side.  Those are the first words Vax’s spoken _to_ her since she rejoined the party outside of Westruun. 

She isn’t quite sure how to respond.  Her body’s definitely weak; she’s dripping with sweat and she feels the lingering burn of acid at the back of her throat.  Blood’s spread around her body like a halo she didn’t ask for.  She knows that if she tried to stand she’d most likely be unable to get to her feet.  Her armor seems to weigh a thousand pounds, as though Grog’s sitting on her chest – Grog and the combined weight of whatever the hell’s in that sword of his, years and eons of pain and heartbreak stored up and all crushing her.

She can’t speak; she can only raise her head a little and stare at Vox Machina’s members gathered around her, realizing they’re faintly glowing, limned in shimmering golden light.

Vex stands near her left shoulder, Vax kneeling in front of his sister.  The two of them together are like matching pieces of a complex and far too intertwined puzzle; she cannot imagine what it was like for Vox Machina – for _Vax_ – to watch Vex die in front of them.  She wonders those things a lot, honestly, having been on the losing end of that equation once in her life already.

Vex seems serious but Pike knows she has an amazing smile, a beguiling wink.  Some think Vex is too focused on money; Pike sees Vex’s frugality as an attempt to hoard safety.  If money can purchase the most amazing things under the sun – healing potions, food, travel on an airship, robes, spell books, jewelry – then those gold and silver coins must be kept for only the most heart-breaking moments of impossible loss and longing, for the please-don’t-ever-come situations when all else has failed.  Vex’s heart is too big to be stingy; her relationship with Trinket is proof enough of that.  Pike envies their closeness, the way the bear seems to always know what his mother wants, the bear’s unspoken devotion to the dark-haired archer, the sense that where one goes, the other must always, _always_ follow.

Keyleth’s on Vex’s other side, the druid leaning on her staff, bending down towards Pike.  Pike sees Keyleth’s mouth already forming the words of a healing spell, though she can’t tell if it’s for her or for another member of Vox Machina.  Keyleth is light in the darkness, she’s air twisted into ribbons, she’s a bird’s wing, she’s freedom.  She takes risks she’s not even aware of; whatever Keyleth does, she does so wholeheartedly.  There is very little time for artifice with Keyleth, something Pike respects immensely.  Keyleth’s far too connected to the rest of the world – in the branches of a tree pushing itself towards the sun, spilling down a mountainside in a babbling brook, blazing bright in a fire after sunset – to want anything to do with pretention.  Pike’s had a lot of experience healing, both as the healer and as the injured, and she has yet to find anyone else who heals the way Keyleth does.  Keyleth puts substance back into a body the way Sarenrae jolts Pike into motion – that is to say, all at once, so vividly and brightly and naturally and _essentially_ that it’s impossible not to gasp with the sudden realization that the world is just _amazing_.

Scanlan and Grog are on her other side.  Scanlan’s leaning down like he thinks he’s going to need to kiss her back to health, and Pike resolves to figure out how to work her body again as quickly as possible before _that_ becomes anything more than a post-battle fugue dream of the bard’s.  He infuriates her and amuses her and she has no idea how her relationship with him became so complex, but she doesn’t know what she’d do without it.  After all, there’s a complete dearth of bards singing to her; aside from Scanlan, no one’s singing her praises.  And Scanlan’s grown to represent a concept Pike’s trying to keep hold of – home.  Scanlan might be irritating, but he’s endearing, he’s familiar, he’s… he’s comfortable.

Grog’s more comfortable than that.  Despite the fact that it’s _his_ sword that caused all this mess, and despite the fact that it’s _his_ fault she’s lying in a pool of her own blood like some sort of red-tinged angel, Pike can’t be mad at her friend.  Her _best_ friend.  He loves her so purely that it takes her breath away to think about it.  Other than Sarenrae and Wilhand, nobody loves Pike like Grog.  He sees the best in her, celebrates her triumphs, wants her to succeed even when it’s impossible for her to do so.  He never thinks she’s less capable just because she’s small.  Or a cleric.  Or wearing incredibly noisy plate armor.  Grog never complained about “losing her to the sea” the way Scanlan did, even though Pike knows her death and her time spent aboard _The Broken Howl_ affected Grog nearly as much as it did her.  Grog never asks for anything.  He just _gives_.  He reminds Pike of where she came from, who she truly is, and who she’s still trying to be.

She reaches up and takes Grog’s hand in hers as she studies Percy, standing at her feet.  He’s so broken and yet so strong, like one of those trees Keyleth talks about sometimes that gets struck by lightning but somehow keeps growing in spite of it all.  Pike won’t lie – Percy’s weapons terrified her at first (and second, and third…) glance, and she still doesn’t understand how they work, but she knows their design is indicative of a wildly intelligent mind and a troubled heart.  She’s never told anyone how it felt to call that dark _something_ out of Percy’s soul in Whitestone, but every now and then they share a look and Pike knows Percy remembers just as well as she does.   It’s the kind of thing not easily forgotten.  But like most, Percy is multitudes, and Pike loves to watch him figure out who he’s meant to be now that Orthax has no hold on him.

And Vax, who’s holding her other hand.  Vax, the reluctant champion, who for days has refused to so much as _look_ at her.  She wraps her fingers tighter around his glove and brushes the symbol of Sarenrae he sewed into the back of the leather; even here in this bizarre temple to Ioun, even on the glove of a man who promised his soul to another deity entirely, Pike’s god still shines.  In the same way that Sarenrae can still provide light in a temple built to another, Pike still loves Vax.  Impulsive, hasty, reckless, yes – but Vax operates out of a place of love, and that makes him dear to Pike.  She knows without a second thought that Vax would give his life for any of them; the fact that it was Vex he traded his soul for makes sense the same way breathing does.

_As for breathing –_

Pike winces as she takes in her next breath and the golden light around her friends – her _family_ – seems to settle and disappear.

“Pike?” Vax asks softly.

“No,” she answers, turning her head to look at Vax, seeing tears in his eyes that she’s positive mirror the ones in hers. “No, I don’t need to speak to Sarenrae.  She’s… she’s already here.”


End file.
